You Want Fries With That Shake?
by CaptainPistachio
Summary: Shake becomes dependent on alcohol to numb the pain of the worst rejection of his life. His life turns into one depressing, alcohol-fueled mess, leaving the one who rejected him to nurse him back to the arrogant, obnoxious Master Shake he once was. So, there's only one thing left to ask. You want fries with that shake? (Rated 'M' for later chapters. Slash warning: FryShake.) Hiatus
1. Pistachio-Flavored Alcohol

"You Want Fries With That Shake?"

CaptainPistachio

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Notice: This story contains the slash (male-on-male) pairing FryShake (Frylock/Shake). So, if you can't deal, I'd suggest you just click the exit button. For those of you who are into this kinda thing, enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, sex, general weirdness. You get the gist.

* * *

Obnoxious grumbles of complete gibberish (along with a thick paste of pistachio milkshake) spilled forth from the oversized, anthropomorphic drinking cup. He laid on the ground in this mess of green goop, wasted for the umpteenth time that week.

"Shake?" A deep and rational voice spoke with a twinge of annoyance. "Shake, are you wasted again? How many times do I have to tell you to stop drinking so much? It's a bad influence on Mea-"

"Look, man!" Shake, the drunken mess that was currently sprawled out upon the living room floor, slurred with a drunken rage. "I live to party and party to live! Why do you keep trying to hold me back from all the women and the booze?... oh, sweet, sweet booze... you know, I don't feel so good."

Frylock, disappointed with his "friend's" most recent life choices, sighed in frustration. He maneuvered his limb-like french fries around the milkshake's girth, heaving him up from the floor. A few droplets of pistachio ice cream dribbled down Shake's bruised-from-partying side as he was returned to an upright position.

"C'mon, you gotta go sleep this off."

"Sleep is for the weak – the losers! Party hard!" Shake whooped in a frantic arrangement of slurs. He slumped over in Frylock's so-called arms, head dangling downward toward the floor as his body refused to stabilize itself. His stomach lurched violently at the sudden change of position, vomit lurking just beyond his lips. "... oh God..."

The sudden change in the obnoxious being's tone made it clear that he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. After being so strung out for hours, sobering up was the most dreaded thing on the planet. He wished he could stay drunk forever, just to avoid the scornful hangover that would soon wrack his body.

"Shake, you've got to stop this shit. It's not just setting a bad example for Meatwad, it's _killing _you."

"I'm..." The helpless man muttered, pausing for a moment as he bit back the urge to hurl. "... fine. I just need some more beer. Just one more bottle and I'll be totally cool!"

Frylock, struggling to carry the weight of his roommate, ignored the foul-smelling loudmouth, stepping around a few of Meatwad's discarded toys in the hallway. The two stumbled down the hall, trying to get to the french fry box's bedroom.

"Hey, now! Y'all done woke me up. I demand an expla- aw, Hell! Is he wasted again?" Meatwad, a self-explanatory wad of meat, rolled out into the hall, rubbing his eyes with his squishy, raw flesh. He strolled up to the two older men, observing the scene. His beady eyes widened for a brief second as Shake slowly lifted his head to view him. "Damn! He looks like he went and got himself hit by a bus or somethin'!"

"You wanna come over here and say that to my face, you slimeball of salmonella?" Shake barked, falling deeper into the stronger man's arms as the insult took the wind from him. "Because I will bring the fire as soon as this room stays in one place!"

"Meatwad, go back to bed. I'll handle him," the french fries with a thick goatee explained, referring to Shake by glancing toward him. The sight was by no means a pretty one. In fact, Shake had never looked more horrible than he did at that moment.

"Well, okay. But you'd better keep him quiet. If he wakes up Dewey and Vanessa, he is in for a world of Hell. You see, I woke them up this one time and almost didn't live to tell the tale."

"Um, right," Frylock responded, grunting a little in his struggle to keep Shake standing. His thick eyebrows furrowed with aggravation for the situation.

"Yeah, I finally did talk them into puttin' those rifles down. I'll tell you, it wasn't easy, boy. They kept sayin'-"

"Meatwad!" The father-like male inadvertently shouted at the boy of lesser intelligence. He sighed and grumbled under his breath, the smell of alcohol entering his nose as his roommate leaned closer into him. "Just go back to bed so I can take care of this dumbass."

"But, I can't go back in there with them. They'll ki-"

"Go to bed!"

With a few disgruntled mutters of how he was unappreciated and was going to call Social Services, the immature ball of meat rolled into his bedroom. A sound of squeaking signaled that he had crawled back onto his grill for some extra sleep.

Frylock heaved a breath of relief, returning his attention back to the situation at hand. He carefully maneuvered one of his spud arms to the doorknob of his room, taking a tighter grip on Shake with the arm that remained around him.

"C'mon, Shake. That's it. You can do it," the box of potatoes dully cooed as if he were talking to a child, making certain that none of his precious science equipment would get knocked to the floor. "Watch out for the-"

_Clash!_

"Shake! That microscope cost me a whole month's worth of rent!"

"What?!" The drunken container defended, flopping face first onto Frylock's space-themed bedspread. "What are you yelling at me for? That was like that when I got here."

With a shake of his head, Frylock mentally mourned for his microscope. He hovered over toward his bed, using his potato appendages to turn the heavier-than-he-remembered man onto his side.

"Okay, okay; it's not important right now," he groaned, lying through his teeth. Strategically, he moved the comforter from beneath Shake's body, placing it over the milkshake. "You comfy?"

Silence followed. Normally, this type of silence was something Frylock could only wish to have, but it didn't feel right this time. He observed the pale-colored body that was curled up on his bed.

"Shake?"

More silence. Frylock could have predicted the following silence, but it still carried an unsettling vibe. Knowing that Shake's constant, sporadic drinking binges could easily take him out one way or another, Frylock felt that it was his personal duty to make sure he kept the man (despite how annoying he was) alive.

"... Shake?"

Another moment of silence – stillness. The potato-made man's heart began to beat in his throat as he wearily leaned closer to the motionless mass on his bed.

"Oh my God... Sha-"

"Would you stop with the federal cases already?! People are trying to sleep!" Shake grumbled harshly, pulling the covers tighter over his head as he turned to face away from his concerned roommate.

"Fine! If you want to suffocate your drunken ass, go ahead!" Frylock, attitude morphing from concerned roommate to pissed off potatoes, barked roughly, his brows curving with anger.

Before an argument could ensue, the (supposedly) eldest male of the trio floated out of his own room. It didn't even feel like his room anymore, since Shake had spent nearly every night in there for the past month. Frylock, being one of even-temperament, kept the peace by sacrificing his bed, something he was positive Shake would not do if the situation was reversed.

Normally, the life-sized cup didn't consume so much alcohol. He'd throw back a beer or two every now and then, but what adult (aside from the very religious) didn't? Sure, there were a few times where he forced himself past his limit, but that was only to impress those who made him feel intimidated. However, the past month had been an unusual case. He'd been drinking nearly everyday, knocking back any kind of alcohol he could get his bright yellow hands on. He was treating the bottle as a lifeline, when it was obvious to everyone (except himself) that it was hammering the nail into his coffin.

Frylock hovered into the kitchen, a look of concern and contemplation plastered on his naturally-crimson face. He moved over to a small coffee pot on the counter, pouring a few coffee grounds into the compartment and switching it to the on position. With a heavy sigh, he sat at their kitchen table, which was oddly stationed in their living room. He placed his face into his "hands", rubbing against his tired eyes.

"It's been a bad week," he muttered to no one in particular (maybe the brewing coffee was listening). His thick goatee scratched against his fries as he let them fall away to the tabletop. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. "I just don't understand what went wrong... well, there was that _one _thing, but Shake's not the kinda guy to get depressed over that... then again, he _does_ have a pretty fragile ego."

A few droning beeps alerted the fatigued pack of spuds that his coffee was ready to drink.

"Mmm," he hummed to himself, the delightful aroma of freshly-brewed coffee filling his senses. He reentered the kitchen, grabbing a chipped mug from the dish-drainer, pouring a decent amount of coffee into the cup. "Maybe this will help calm my nerves."

"Frylock!"

Frylock's eyes widened at the sudden shout. His heartbeat escalated from the shock. The mug he was barely grasping nearly fell from his fries, hot coffee splashing over the sides and onto the counter. Luckily, the scalding liquid spared Frylock from its scornful heat.

"Shake? What's he doing u-"

"Frylock!" The urgent cry sounded again, this time sounding more distressed. "... FRYLOCK!"

"Okay, okay! I'm coming, damn it!" The bearded man shouted in return, hoping not to wake Meatwad in the process. While he was irritated by the shouting match, he couldn't wash away the sudden sense of fear that crept into his mind. Shake had sounded as though he was in pain, something Frylock had been determined to prevent.

_'He__'d__ better not be bullshitting about this.'_

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Notice: There's more to come soon. So, uh... get out of my freakin' pool! (Oh, Carl! Such a considerate neighbor he is!)


	2. Milk or Liquor for Your Coffee, Sir?

"You Want Fries With That Shake?"

CaptainPistachio

* * *

Notice: This story contains the slash (male-on-male) pairing FryShake (Frylock/Shake). So, if you can't deal, I'd suggest you just click the exit button. For those of you who are into this kinda thing, enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, sex, general weirdness. You get the gist.

* * *

"Frylock? Frylock, are you in here yet?" Shake moaned, exaggerating his various sounds as he raised a yellow-colored hand. His dull eyes opened, glancing over toward the bedroom door. A flimsy smile came to his lips when he saw his roommate hover into the room, floating closer toward him.

"Yeah," came the soothingly-deep voice of the man in question. "I'm here. What do you want?"

"I'm parched. Fetch me some more beer to quench my thirst."

Frylock's eyes widened with shock at the statement, though they rapidly narrowed with frustration. He leaned over the body of his friend, the stench of liquor still heavy on the milkshake's breath.

"I don't think so," the intellect spoke sternly, keeping his wits about him. "But, I did make some coffee. That might help."

Shake, obviously annoyed by the more-mature of the two's response, quickly shot up from the bed, soon regretting the decision. His abnormally-sized, cup-like body descended back into the mattress as he clenched his eyes closed.

"No! Only booze can save me from this," the pistachio-flavored man exclaimed in a slur, trying to ignore the swimming sensation wracking his body. "Just go over to Carl's and get me a six-pack."

"No, Shake. You're just going to have to start sobering up. This time you'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions."

The drinking container's face dropped, revealing his appalled mood. He looked over to the other male, who was now picking up the broken bits of microscope he had forgotten to clean earlier.

"But... but, Carl likes you! He'd have no problem giving _you _beer. Just one brewski; it doesn't even have to be a whole bottle."

"I said no!" Frylock explained, facial muscles contorting into a stern expression. His eyes glared at the other as he looked up from the floor, cleaning the final remaining pieces of microscope and setting them on his computer desk. "Besides, Carl doesn't like me _that_ much. You know how he is when it comes to his beer supply."

"Well," Shake began, his voice still having a mildly stunned tone from his roommate's refusal, sitting up (slowly this time) again. "I... I guess I'll take you up on that coffee then."

"That's the spirit!" The french fry container beamed, giving his friend a soft pat on the back in a form of congratulations. "I'll be right back. You just lay down and wait for me."

At this statement, an unreadable expression appeared across the ghastly-white male's face. There was a vibe of anger, though the tension of the air was mostly filled with bitterness. The look on his face left his companion to rethink his previous statement, glancing toward the ground with an awkward silence hanging from his parted lips.

"You mean like I have been for the past I-don't-even-remember-how-many years? Yeah, because I saw how well that worked out," Shake grumbled with bitterness, laying back down into the mattress and tugging the comforter back over him. "It's just _all_ about you, isn't it?"

"Shake, please. We don't need to bring this up again," Frylock responded with an almost sympathetic roll of his eyes. Normally, he'd go into a long lecture of how it was never about him, or how Shake always had to steal the lime light from everyone else. Tonight, however, was different. He was exhausted, in more ways than one, and just wanted to have one night go off without a hitch (considering you don't count Shake being drunk to the high Heavens a hitch). "I'll just go get that coffee now."

An all-too-familiar silence wafted through the air, building an invisible barrier of strain between the two anthropomorphic food items. They never had seen eye-to-eye, but this was the most uneven ground they had ever trod. While the silent feud could have never been started, Shake just wasn't able to let go of his forbidden yearnings.

The quietness still hung heavy from the time the former-detective left to fetch the hot beverages to the time he had returned. He carried a small tray atop his greasy appendages, floating carefully over to the bookcase in front of his bed. He set the tray onto the wooden surface, removing the two mugs of coffee and carrying them over to his friend. He passed one of the steaming mugs to Shake, an apologetic smile resting flush against his crimson features.

"You forgot to shut the door, Einstein," the man topped with a pink bendy straw mumbled, rolling his eyes as he collected the cup into his hands. He formed his stumpy fingers around the sides of the mug, letting the warmth soak into his body.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Frylock retorted, wondering why he had apologized for not shutting his own bedroom door. He set his own cup of java down on a dresser near his bed, mentally cursing the situation as he maneuvered over to shut the door.

As the salt-sprinkled male had his gem-encrusted back turned, Shake seized the opportunity to finally claim what he felt was his. Hastily, he withdrew a stainless steel flask that was seemingly conjured from thin air, opening the container and tipping it over Frylock's abandoned mug. The foul-smelling liquid drained from the flask, morphing with the caffeinated beverage.

Before he had the time to let a sly smirk form, the pistachio milkshake caught a glimpse of his roommate facing him once again. He quickly discarded the evidence of his actions by tossing the flask over his shoulder, the steel disintegrating upon contact with the wall.

"What was that?" The potato-made roomy questioned with suspicion lacing his voice, an eyebrow quirking to one side. He shot a sharp look toward Shake, who gave off an innocent vibe in the form of a shaky smile.

"Uh, there was a bug. Don't worry about it, I took care of it. He'll never see the light of day again after what I just did to him."

A brief moment of strong intuition entered the bearded man's body, causing him to wearily return to his position next to the bed. He took his cup of coffee back into his fries, bringing it up to his mouth. His eyebrow quirked once again as he looked up toward Shake, who was sitting against the headboard with a forced innocence playing along his features.

"Shake...?"

"What's the matter, Frybutt?" Shake asked with a smug chuckle, rapidly containing his attitude, playing it off as if he was just laughing at the not-so-lovely nickname.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just wondering, why does my coffee smell like liquor," Frylock spoke, his voice being demanding for an answer. He knew that the pasty-white man was up to something, but he didn't want to falsely accuse a possibly innocent person (er... cup).

_'Damn his sense of smell!' _The temperamental beverage mentally cursed, trying for all he was worth to keep a straight face. He thought fast, quickly conjuring a story in his mind as to how that smell would have found its way into the other man's cup.

"Um... I took a couple of swigs of your coffee. Yeah, that's it. And might I add that I am offended that you would even think anything differently! You asshole!" Shake lied, swiftly forcing himself to sound more offended than he actually had been. "I thought we were at a place where we could trust each other!"

Once again, it was up to Frylock to remain mature, keeping the peace by denying his own anger. He shut his eyes in a moment of contemplation, sighing as he reopened them to view the liquid swishing around in his coffee mug.

"Well, you can trust me; I'm not so sure about the other way around," he muttered under his breath, the words being unheard by his current company. Finally, he regained his composure enough to begin a conversation. "Just shut up and drink your _own_ coffee."

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Notice: There's chapter two. I'll give you a hint as to what happens in the upcoming chapter: "Put on your shin guards, Sandy, 'cause I wanna knock boots..." (Hint, hint – things are gonna get messy – hint, hint, cough, cough).


End file.
